


tip of my tongue

by Hawthornes



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-02
Updated: 2013-12-02
Packaged: 2018-01-03 05:28:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1066307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hawthornes/pseuds/Hawthornes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Where’re you going?”</p>
<p>He still doesn’t look at her, his eyes fixed on the darkness outside of the window. “Dunno.”</p>
<p>Allison shifts in her seat, pursing her lips. Obviously, something must be really wrong for him to just get up and leave. She wonders if he even told anyone that he was going, and she figures that he didn’t. “Why?” She doesn’t expect him to answer it because, still, it doesn’t seem like the right time.</p>
<p>And just as she suspects, he just shakes his head, saying a short, “doesn’t matter.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	tip of my tongue

She doesn’t question his intentions when she finds him standing beside her car as she comes out of her house. And she tosses him the keys when he holds his hands out, saying nothing. All she does is slide in the passenger seat, and watches him for a while, wondering if he’s going to say something—offer some sort of explanation.

He doesn’t. He just drives, never glancing anywhere but out the front window. Figuring that it’s not her place, she doesn’t pry. She just lays her head against the window and closes her eyes. He’ll talk when he’s ready. She’s sure of it. When is the only question, but she’s not too worried about that.

 

—

It turns out that later comes at three in the morning. They’re well past Beacon Hills limits when he shakes her awake. It takes her a few minutes to come to, blinking in confusing. At first, she doesn’t realize where she is, but then she remembers, and she pushes herself into a better position and looks at him with a perked brow.

“I’ll take you back,” are his only words after a long pause.

“Where’re you going?”

He still doesn’t look at her, his eyes fixed on the darkness outside of the window. “Dunno.”

Allison shifts in her seat, pursing her lips. Obviously, something must be really wrong for him to just get up and leave. She wonders if he even told anyone that he was going, and she figures that he didn’t. “Why?” She doesn’t expect him to answer it because, still, it doesn’t seem like the right time.

And just as she suspects, he just shakes his head, saying a short, “doesn’t matter.”

This isn’t like him, not at all. But, for one reason or another, he decided that he wanted her to come along on this with him, and she isn’t about to let him go off on his own. So, she nods, sighing a little. “I’ll go with you.”

That’s when he finally looks at her. There’s something of surprise in his eyes, but she sees something else, something that chills her to the bone—pain. It’s deep and almost unreadable, but it’s there. She wants to reach out to him, then; take his hand and let him know that he’s not alone, but she doesn’t because she knows he’d just pull away.

—

She’s cleaning herself up in the bathroom of a gas station—tugging her fingers through her tangled hair in a feeble attempt to make it look half-way decent and not the rat’s nest that she’s been living with for the past two days. And she scrubs at her arms and face with balled-up pieces of paper towel. It’s not much, but it’s alright.

Isaac’s asleep in the car, and she doesn’t want to disturb him. It’s the first time he’s closed his eyes in the three days they’ve been on the road, and he needs the rest because he refuses to let her get behind the wheel.

Instead of getting in the car and possibly awaking him, she perches herself on a bench not too far away. She has a book clutched in her hands, one that she just bought at the gas station. It’s a small paperback of To Kill A Mockingbird, and she opens it, resolving to read and let him sleep for at least three hours.

“Whatcha readin’ there?”

She lets out a surprised noise when she heard the voice, looking up to see a man standing in front of her. The only thing Allison will later remember about him is his black beard that falls mid-way down his gigantic stomach, and his gruff voice. It sounds like sandpaper rubbing together. “Uh—To Kill A Mocking Bird,” she stammers, biting down on her lip.

When the man sits down beside her, her whole body tenses, and every instinct she has in her is telling her to get out of there. “That’s one of my favourite books. Probably read it thirty times.”

And he’s about to say something else when another voice cuts through.

“Allison,” it’s Isaac, and she looks up to see him standing beside the car with the passenger’s side door open, “let’s go.”

She doesn’t argue, and doesn’t say another word to the man as she slides into her seat, Isaac closing the door once she’s in. The glare he sends the man who’s still seated on the bench doesn’t go unnoticed by her. She finds herself letting out a breath in relief when he’s beside her, starting the car. “I was going to let you sleep for a while.”

“Your fear woke up every werewolf from here to Alabama.”

She huffs at that. “I wasn’t afraid.”

He snorts, and it’s the closest they’ve gotten to a normal conversation in days, which makes her grin a little.

—

They use the money that Allison has been saving since she was six. They sleep in the car, stock up on chips and candy bars and soda every day or so, and fill the car with gas only when it gets dangerously low. Isaac drives, Allison reads, and conversations are kept to a minimum. Neither has much to say.

When six days have passed, they’re finally out of California and into Nevada. Their journey still doesn’t have a destination, and more often than not, they’re driving in circles or lost on back roads that lead nowhere. She doesn’t mind, and she doesn’t say much, sometimes just offering her opinion which usually would just be shut down.

It doesn’t bother her because, really, this is  _his_ journey, and she’s just along for the ride. That much has been evident since the first day when she got in the car with him. And she’s glad that she’s with him—glad that he chose to bring her with him instead of just going alone. At least he has someone.

So she keeps her mouth shut, letting him talk when he wants to, and acting more as moral support than anything.

—

They’re sitting in a bar, in a town whose name Allison doesn’t recognize, and doesn’t bother remembering. She’s somehow convinced him to stop driving for the night, to stay in a motel room so they can shower and get a proper mean—both of which neither of them had had in forever. And she even bought him a change of clothes at a gas station earlier.

But now they’re seated at the bar, both nursing some type of alcoholic beverage in their hands. The bartender had been some skinny, ache-ridden, collage aged boy who didn’t even question them when they ordered. He seemed as if he could care less about what age they were, and that suited Allison just fine.

It’s been forever since she’s had a real drink, and she’s almost more relived to be downing the glass of whiskey then the shower that she would be having soon. She decides that they were going to have to stop at a liquor store at some point because, even though she is getting better, she’s still an alcoholic, and she needs alcohol to keep doing this.  

She drinks the first whiskey quickly, and the orders another, taking her time with the second on. Isaac’s still on his first beer, and his eyes are staring somewhere off in the distance. She wishes, then, that she knew what was wrong. And she wishes that she knew a way to help him because seeing him like this is killing her.

They finish up their drinks, and head back to the motel. She doesn’t waste any time getting in the shower, and she scrubs her skin until it’s red. Only then does she get out and change into the t-shirt and jeans she found in the trunk of her car. Isaac doesn’t say anything when she comes back into the room, and just silently goes into the bathroom.

And when he comes out, clad in a Welcome to Nevada shirt, and cargo pants that aren’t nearly big enough for him, Allison can’t help but break into a laughing fit.

He doesn’t find it nearly as funny, standing in the bathroom doorway, and crossing his arms over his chest.

But she’s clutching her stomach and rolling around on the bed in laughter. “I need… a picture… of this.” She says between breaths, trying to calm the giggles that are still forcing their way out. Allison wipes the tears away from her eyes, forcing herself not to look at him because she knows that if she does, she’ll start laughing again.

“It’s not going to be so funny when I leave you here in the middle of the night.” He growls.

She can’t help but look up at him then, and the laughter comes back. The next moment, there’s a pillow thrown at her head, and soon the two are engaged in an actual, honest-to-god, pillow fight.

—

When she opens her eyes and finds herself alone in the car, she sits up with a start. She doesn’t know where they are because she stopped paying attention to road signs a long time ago, and she begins to worry that he went out for whatever and got murdered or something.

_ Allison,  _ she reminded herself as she got out of the vehicle,  _he’s a werewolf. There’s nothing out here that can hurt him._

Still, she grabs her crossbow from the backseat, keeping it close to her as she ventures a little ways into the forest that they were parked in front of. Why he would come out here, she doesn’t know, but she’s determined to find him. Because god forbid something happens to him. She doesn’t even want to think about what she’d do.

She finds herself calling out his name a lot as she walks further and further into the trees. It’s almost completely silent, and Allison can feel a chill spreading up her spine and along her arms. All she could think is that something happened to him—that he’s hurt and alone, or worse. She had to force herself not to think of what the worse was.

It’s not until about an hour later when she finds him, sitting on the ground with his head in his hands.

The destruction around him doesn’t go unnoticed. Trees are uprooted, the ones too big to be moved have claw marks in them, and there’re branches littering the ground. And the next thing she notices is his hands—bloody and cut and bruised. Her heart clenches. Did he finally snap?

She sits beside him, and they stay there until the sun comes up and shines through the leaves.

—

She loves him.

They’ve been on the road for nearly three weeks, and she looks at him one day, and it just hits her.

She might’ve known before—she knew she suspected at least, but now she really does know. Sitting in the passenger’s seat, she glances over at him, and the way the light of the setting sun gives his face a golden outline and makes his hair look like it’s on fire. It’s in that moment that she realizes she’s in love with him.

For some bizarre reason, she wants to say something. She wants to open her mouth and blurt it out, but at the last second, she decides against it. It would do them any good. Allison knows that it’d just make things awkward between them, and they’re in such a good—if not, strange—place now. She doesn’t want to ruin it.

So she turns to look out her own window, letting the new feeling wash through her.

—

“What are we doing?” She asks out of the blue one day.

They’re both lying across the hood of the car, and they had just finished up their lunch—a bag of chips and two chocolate bars. Now they’re just lying there, relaxing. For the past day they did nothing but drive. She could tell that Isaac was tired, and figured they would both benefit from a break.

He turns to look at her, squinting his eyes as the sun shone in them. “We’re resting, remember? It was your idea.”

Allison elbows him in the side then, giving him a pointed look. “You know what I meant, stupid.” And she can’t help but grin because he does, and it is a rare sight these days.

But the smile didn’t last long. He looks back toward the sky, closing his eyes completely. For a long time, he doesn’t answer, and she’s beginning to think that he’s not going to when he lets out a breath. “We’re going on a life-altering journey in which I discover myself and bring you with me.” His voice is so serious, it’s almost frightening, but then he snickers. “When you write the book, be sure to give me a cut of the money.”

She rolls her eyes at the comment, and they fall into a silence for a long time before she speaks up again. “Why’d you bring me?” It had been eating away at her for a long time now, and she figures that she might as well ask.

There’s no pause then, and he doesn’t hesitate when he says, “because you’re the only one I can put up with.”

—

They’re standing on a beach in Phoenix, Arizona. She knows that they’re not even close to being done travelling, and she’s beginning to wonder if they’ll ever be. She misses home. She misses her bed, she misses her dad, her friends, everything. She’s tired of sleeping in the car and not eating real food. And she really, really wants to shower every day.

But she says none of this. All she can do is follow him, and that’s what she does. Even though she has her cellphone, she doesn’t try to contact anyone, and she wonders what’s going on back home. Surely, they’re worried about her, and about Isaac. Surely, there’re been attempts to find them.

She feels bad, making them worry when she could so easily tell them where they are, and that they’re okay. She doesn’t, though, because she figures that Isaac doesn’t want anyone to know. She figures that the point of this is to get away from them, and her contacting home would just ruin it all.

Mostly, she tries to think of anything but home and her friends and her family. It just hurts. All thinking about them does to her is make her worry about them. And when she’s worried, she can’t focus on what she’s supposed to be doing. Even though she doesn’t really know what that is, she knows that nothing good can come from losing focus.

She always keeps her cell on her, though, just in case. It’s sitting in her pocket now, as they stand shoulder-to-shoulder, looking out to the water. It’s pretty, she notices, with the sun rising over the horizon, making the water a pinkish colour.

Allison lays her head on his shoulder, closing her eyes. He doesn’t move, but he also doesn’t stiffen, so she sees no point in pulling away.

—

Time lost all meaning long ago.

They’ve been on the road for almost two months now, and there is no morning or night. They sleep when they’re tired, and they eat when they’re hungry. Sure, the sun goes up and down, and the clock on the dashboard reads of times, but it means nothing. Most of the time, she finds herself sitting up reading at five in the morning.

He still hasn’t let her drive, and he doesn’t seem like he’s ever going to. She doesn’t mind, but when his eyes start dropping and he yawns continuously, she wishes that he’d give her the wheel just for a little while so he could rest. But he always stops when he gets too tired. Allison tries to sleep then, too, but she usually ends up reading.

She can’t count the number of books she’s gone through. Dozens. She tries to read them slowly, sometimes reading the same one a couple of times. All the ones she’s read sits on the backseat, with everything else they’ve purchased.

This time when he stops, he’s asleep within the first couple of minutes. Thankfully, he parked in front of an all-night coffee shop/gas station. She gets out of the car, making sure to close the door lightly, though she knows that almost nothing can wake him up when he’s out like that. She has a book in her hands when she enters the building.

She orders herself a coffee and a blueberry muffin. Though the coffee was alright, the muffin tasted like it had been sitting there for four days. Hungry, she ate it anyway.

She sits in silence for a long time, reading and drinking, when she hears footsteps approaching her. Allison glances up to see an older woman with red hair and kind face looking down at her. “No offence, honey, but you look lonelier than anythin’. Mind if I sit?”

She shakes her head, watching the woman sit down, which required a fair amount of grunting and strange noises. This woman is better than the black-bearded man from the beginning. There’s nothing in her gut telling her to run away or anything, so she figures it’s  safe to let her sit down and talk for a bit.

And she hadn’t noticed it until the woman mentioned it, but she is really lonely. The only company she’s really had for the past couple of months is Isaac, and he hasn’t exactly been so talkative. She’s starved for human companionship, so she puts her book down, glancing up at the older woman who smiles at her.

“You look like a traveler. You a traveler?”

She nods. “I’ve been on the road with my—uh, friend for the past couple of months.” She pushes her hand through her hair.

There’s a knowing glint in the woman’s eyes that makes Allison kind of uneasy. “You love this friend, don’t’cha?”

The brunette looks away from her, biting down on her lip. “How—?”

She just laughs, reaching forward to pat Allison’s hands that were clenched tight in front of her. “Don’t worry, sweet child. I was sitting in exactly your seat when I was your age, and I thought I’d offer you a small piece of advice.” She smiles again, pulling her hand away. “He’s a runner, that one. Don’t let ‘im get away.”

Allison can only stare as the woman gets up to leave. When she’s half-way to the door, the young girl gathers herself again, calling out. “Did you get yours?” She asks before she can stop herself.

The woman laughs, glancing over her shoulder. “Been married to him for forty-five years. Best of luck to you.”

—

She doesn’t think there was a time during their whole journey that he drives the speed-limit. He’s always at least ten-miles over, and she considers them lucky that they haven’t gotten a ticket yet. Now, as they’re racing down the highway, he’s about fifteen miles over. She doesn’t say anything because she’s gotten used to it by now.

Allison bites into a protein bar, wishing, once again, that she had a good, home-cooked meal. Maybe later she’d be able to convince Isaac to stop at a diner or something. First, though, they are going to have to get off of this god forsaken highway. They’ve been on it for the last fourteen hours, and Isaac shows no signs of getting off.

“We need to eat some real food, dude. If I eat one more protein bar or bag of chips, I’m going to be sick.” She says, dropping the half-eaten bar on the floor. She’ll clean it later.

He nods. “Yeah.” And then, after a long pause, “I’ll get off at the next exit.”

Thank god.

—

She’s screaming, her hands flying around madly. And he’s screaming too. They’re screaming at each other, have been for a while now. She can’t remember how the fight started, but he pulled the car over, and they’ve been arguing on the side of the road for about half an hour.

“Stop! Will you just stop! For once in your life, stop thinking about yourself!” There are tears blurring her vision, and she’s trying her best to push them back, but it’s not working as well as she wanted to.

He scoffs, pointed an accusatory finger at her. “ _Stop thinking about myself?_ I never think about myself! My whole damn life has been spent thinking of everyone else. I’m sorry if you can’t see that! Maybe you should’ve stayed home! Maybe I should’ve never come to you! This was obviously a mistake.”

She shakes her head, stomping her feet in a childlike manner. “Listen to me! I’m worried about you, Isaac! You’ve been dragging me all over this goddamned country, and I haven’t said a word!  _And neither have you!_ No explanations, nothing. You haven’t even tried to justify this. Isaac, I’m tired, I’m hungry, I miss my home, but I’ll continue to let you do whatever it is you’re doing, and making me follow you all these places  _if you just tell me why.”_

“No.” It’s one word, and he says it in the calmest voice, making the hair on her arms stand up straight.

She closes her eyes before reaching up and wiping her tears off of her face. “Goddammit, Isaac.  I don’t deserve to be treated like this.”

“I know.” He looks at his feet, away from her.

“I’m just—I’m worried about you. I want you to be okay.”

“I know.”

And there’s nothing else to say, so she gets in the car. A few moments later, he follows her, and they’re driving again without a word. They’re going on again because it’s all they can do. Home isn’t an option yet. She wouldn’t let it be because she knows that he’s not done.

—

She’s lying on one of the beds in their motel room, flipping through the channels on the small TV. She’s just burning time now—just trying to find things to do until it’s all over. It’s a depressing way to think, but it’s going on three months, and nothing’s changed. They drive, they eat, they sleep, and then they do it all over again.

She discovered today that they should’ve been out of money a long time ago, but they hadn’t. She figures that someone keeps putting money in, which means that someone’s been watching her transactions. She isn’t planning on telling Isaac this—there really is no point to. As long as there’s money for them to keep going, things’ll be okay.

She only glances up briefly as he enters the room. He flops down on the other bed, and neither of them says anything. If they were quiet before, they were worse now. Ever since that fight.

So it surprises her when he speaks. “When did you know?”

He doesn’t need to say anything else for her to understand the question. The only company they’ve had for all these months is each other—she knew him better than she knew anyone, and he knew he better than she knew herself. What he meant was,  _when did you know you loved me?_

She doesn’t question how he figured it out, she just takes in a breath, pressing her eyes close. “During the first month. I mean—I thought I might’ve before that, but that’s when I knew for sure.” And she pauses briefly. “Why?”

“How?”

Allison shrugs. “I dunno—I just did. It was just there one moment. Why?” She questions again.

Isaac turns his head to look at her, and she turns his head to look at him. “Because I think I may be in love you with, too.” 

—

 

She thinks that the first time he sleeps through the night is one when they’re together—curled in each other’s arms.

They started doing this a few months back. One day she just found herself asking for a room with one bed instead of two, and it’s been this way ever since. At first, both of them were hesitant, strictly sticking to one side of the bed. But one night, he woke to her thrashing in her sleep, and he pulled her into his arms.

They’ve been sleeping that way ever since. And, if she’s being honest, it feels like the most natural thing in the world. When she’s curled into him, listening to the steady beat of his heart, she feels safe. She feels protected, and it doesn’t matter anymore that she’s nowhere near home because home is now with him.

Her nightmares fall away quickly, but his stick for a while longer. She used to fall asleep in his arms, and wake up to find him sitting in the car. But one night, she wakes up with the sun coming through the window, and he’s still there. He looks as if he’s been in a peaceful sleep for hours. And because she can’t bring herself to wake him up, she falls back asleep too.

 

—

She’s sitting on the hood of the car, inspecting the tattoo on her wrist. She got it back in Miami—mainly because she always wanted one, but also because she wanted something to remember this trip by—something permanent, something that was always going to last, no matter what. This was it for her.  

Isaac had mocked her for it, but she’s gotten long past used to it. She actually encourages it lately because it means that he’s getting better. Because when he’s making fun of her, it means that he’s becoming more of the Isaac she used to know. But, on the other hand, he will never become that Isaac again. At most, he’ll be a mixture of both.

 And she likes that. Because though she loves the old Isaac, she loves this one too. And she will love any version of him that comes along in the future

—

It’s five in the morning and they’re in the car, a tangle of limbs stretched out over the two front seats. She doesn’t know how she ended up with his elbow in her ribs, or how they could’ve possibly gotten their legs tangled like that, but here they were. She almost would’ve laughed if she weren’t so stiff from sleeping like this.

“Move your leg—”

“—your hand is on my face.”

“Ow. Fuck. How did you even manage that?”

“Isaac, I’m going to bite you if you don’t get your hand off my face.”

“Right. Now move your leg. No, no, to the left.”

“Your elbow—”

“—What?”

“Your elbow is in my ribs.”

“ _Goddammit._ ”

“Did you just bump your head?”

“We’re never doing this again.”

—

She started taking phone calls about a month back. She doesn’t know what made her answer the phone, but when she took it out of her pocket and saw Stiles’ number flash on the screen, she was filled with an overwhelming home-sickness that hadn’t affected her before. Out of everyone she left behind, she misses Stiles the most.

She hasn’t told Isaac, but she’s sure he knows by now. Either that or he’s completely clueless as to what she does every second Thursday at four fifteen in the morning (that is, four fifteen in Beacon Hills).

That’s what she’s doing now—sitting on a log somewhere off in the woods. She’s been out here for about ten minutes. She tries to keep the phone conversations short—twenty minutes max because her phone is essentially a piece of junk and enjoys cutting off after half an hour of usage.

“We really need to figure out a new time to talk. I can’t keep getting up at four in the morning just for you.” Stiles says, and she can hear him yawn loudly. “What time is it there?”

“A little past one.”

“And where are you, anyway?”

Allison shakes her head, sighing. “You know I can’t tell you that. It’s against the rules.”

“Right, right.” And there’s a long pause before he says, “come back soon, will you? I miss you.”

A smile tugs at her lips and there it is again—the feeling of absolute homesickness. She wishes that he were in front of her so that she could hug him. But instead all she can do is wrap one arm around herself. “I miss you too.” She doesn’t want to tell him that she’ll be home soon because she doesn’t know if she’ll ever be home again.

They hang up. She knows that she should go back to the car and get some sleep, but she just brings her knees to her chest and sobs. This is the loneliest that she’s felt all year. It’s like a churning in her gut—there’s something empty in her chest, but something that makes her want to throw up her insides at the same time.

—

His lips are rough against hers.

When they kiss, it’s never gentle or sweet. It’s always rough and passionate—like they’re trying to devour one another. She likes it—the fast pace that keeps her heart hammering against her chest. Her hands are pushing through his hair, and his fingernails are digging into the soft skin on her hips.

She, eventually, though, has to come up to breathe, and she presses her forehead to his. If, last year, someone were to ask her if she ever saw herself in this position, she would’ve laughed at them. But here she is, and in all truth, she couldn’t imagine anywhere else being better than this.

His fingertips brush under her shirt, and along her abdomen. She shivers, but leans into the touch, and soon his lips are on hers again. She moves her hands, now gripping his face, holding it close to hers. She thought that she got past the butterflies in her stomach a long time again, but they’re still there, making her nervous and excited all at once.

“Promise you’ll never leave.”

Instead of answering, he captures her lips again, and she accepts it.

—

“Next time you ask me to teach you something, remind me to say no.”

“It’s not my fault that I had better things to do than sit around and play chess when I was a kid.” She huffs, leaning back against the head board of the bed.

He snorts. “I get that, but you’re ridiculously bad. A person would have to be an idiot to be this bad.”

“Hey! I resent that. My teachers always said that I was exceptionally bright.” Her arms are crossed over her chest, and she sends a half-fake half-real glare in his direction. He doesn’t seem to notice.

“I think they might’ve told you that to make you feel better about being ‘special’.”

She kicks the chess board off of the bed, earning a perked eyebrow from Isaac. “Remind me why I put up with you again.”

“Because, unlike you, I’m  _exceptionally brilliant,_ and good looking.”

—

The fence is high, but she manages to climb it and push herself over the top without problem. And, thanks to her eight years of gymnastics training, she lands on her feet on the other side. Isaac does to, but she decided long ago that when he does things like that, it’s not nearly as impressive because of his wolf powers.

She brushes herself off, and then glances over at him. He’s glancing around, but when he feels her looking at him, he looks back at her too. She can’t help but smile then, and she grabs his elbow, pulling him forward. It’s dark, and cool, and almost too quiet. She can’t help but shiver, and pray that, whatever happens, they don’t get eaten.

She wishes that she was joking with that prayer.

“Do you know where we are?” He whispers, and she can feel his breath on her neck.

“According to this,” she says, gesturing to the map in her hands, “we’re in the tiger’s den.”

Even through the darkness, she can see the look on his face. It’s a cross between horror and annoyance. And she can also see that he hopes she’s kidding, but after a moment when she says nothing, he flinches. “If you ever want to come to the zoo again, we’re coming in the day time,  _through the doors.”_

“Where’s your sense of adventure, Lahey?”

“I left it standing outside of the tiger’s den.”

—

The phone call comes when she’s in a deep sleep. She doesn’t know how many times the phone rang, and she doesn’t even know why her phone is on—she turns it off all days but Thursday—but eventually she reaches across Isaac to grab it off of the nightstand. He turns in his sleep, but she barely notices.

“Hello?” She says, sitting up to rub the sleep from her eyes.

&ldquo;Allison? Allison, are you there?” She’s startled by Lydia’s voice because the only one who ever calls her these days is Stiles. And she thinks about hanging up, but there’s fear and desperation in the girl’s voice.

But she does pause. “Lydia? What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

“I’m—I’m fine, but Stiles—” Her voice is cut off by a sob, and there’s nothing but cold fear spreading through Allison’s bones. “He was in an accident, Allison. He’s… he’s not good. He’s asking for you. Is there any way that you could come home?” There’s more crying before she’s able to settle herself down. “We don’t know how long he has. Please, Allison.”

She glances down at Isaac who’s still asleep, but it doesn’t matter. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“Thank you.”

—

She debated on waking him up or not, but she decided against it. She just sits on the bed for hours, staring at the wall, trying to calm herself down. And when he finally does stir, she’s on her feet, looking down at him. He blinks up at her, and opens his mouth to say something, but she speaks before he gets the chance.

“Stiles is hurt. And they don’t think he’s going to make it,” she says in a rush. “I have to go home.”

He runs a hand through his hair, pushing himself into a sitting position. As soon as his eyes meet hers, she knows what he’s going to say. And she can see all those walls she worked so hard to bring down coming back up around him. “Go.”

A couple of times, she opens her mouth and then closes, unable to make any sound come out of it. She stumbles back one step, pursing her lips and looking around. “You’re not coming with me?”

“No.”

It’s in that moment that she has to make the hardest choice of her life. And, honestly, she’s stuck. She sways back and forth on her feet a couple of time, wondering if she should say something. In the end, though, there’s nothing she can say. And there’s nothing to say. And there’s more reason to go then there is to stay. So she just turns and leaves.

—

She spends three days driving. Not sleeping, barely eating, just driving, and stopping whenever she needed to fill the car with gas. She tries her best not to think, but that never works out well, and her brain is usually filled with worry over Stiles, and heartbreak over what happened back at the motel with Isaac.

She loves him  _so much,_ but Stiles is like her brother. She needs to go to him. She doesn’t know what’s going to happen with her and Isaac now—or even if there still is a her and Isaac anymore. And she can’t help but wondering if she’s ever going to see him again or if he’ll just take off and disappear.

With all these thoughts rolling around in her head, she can’t stop herself when the tears come. She can’t force them back down, so she welcomes them as best as she can. And she sobs. Driving through a thunderstorm, she’s sobbing and practically screaming at the top of her lungs. She’s screaming at the unfairness of it all.

It’s unfair that Stiles was in an accident. It’s unfair that Isaac refused to come back with her. It’s unfair that she was forced to pick between them. And it’s unfair that this storm was making the traffic go even slower.

She wishes that she had someone to hold her hand, but she doesn’t.

She’s completely alone in the car—alone with nothing but the sound of her own cries and the thumping of rain on the windshield. Unable to take the silence, she turns the radio up full blast, and lets the sound vibrate through her head, giving her a headache that slowly develops into a migraine.

She still doesn’t stop.

—

She’s sitting beside his hospital bed, clutching one of his hands in her own. When she first got here, she felt like crying at the sight of all of the machines he was hooked up to. He’s so pale, and looks to small lying there, that it makes her heart ache whenever she glances up at him. Mostly, she just sleeps.

But her dreams are actually nightmares, and when she’s not in Stiles’ room, she’s roaming the halls of the hospital like a zombie. The sheriff told her that she could stay at his house—even though he’s barely there anymore. And Lydia said that she could stay with her. And of course, she could go home if she wanted. But she stays in the hospital, waiting.

Waiting for him to wake up.

—

On the seventh day, he does wake up. The sheriff went to get something to eat, but Allison’s sitting there, and when he opens his eyes, she can’t help the sob that escapes her lips. She feels him squeeze her hand, even though it’s not very hard, and she couldn’t remember a time when she was so happy and sad at the same time.

“You came.” He coughs out.

“Of course I did.”

She sees something of a smile cross his face, but it’s gone as soon as it’s there. “You’re not the only one.”

She perks an eyebrow, and turns when she notices that he’s looking at someone over her shoulder. And she doesn’t know if she’s angry or relieved when she sees Isaac.

He’s standing in the doorway with his arms crossed over his chest. The only thing he says is, “I’m sorry.”  


End file.
